Scorching sun

I can see his bones. The metal chains have torn apart the cluster of cells layered to protect his femur and the sight is too painful to stare at more than a minute. He doesn't scream anymore and that's not surprising because I've seen him try; he can't scream anymore. 

The dark used to be my ally. I would hide away from the world with music pounding alongside the regular beats of my heart, around me. Those moments used to be a blessing in my usual wreck of a life. But now I would trade my whole life just to have one day in light, under the sun. My desperation doesn't even concern me in my moments of sanity either because I witnessed everything the dark had to offer to me in just a month- if I counted the days alright.

I look to my left, walls tainted with red. I see that when I'm not staring at him. They come to take me when they want to feel a redhead begging and crying. Sometimes they come to get the dirty blonde or the brunette; they have all types at their leisure. I don't remember much of the ideals I used to hold and fight for before, all my hopes are focused on not being exploited again tonight- I hope they're feeling blonde tonight or brunette. It's cruel to wish atrocities upon somebody but I don't have the mental strength to take the pain and humiliation yet again, not tonight.

I do remember the rush I felt when I got the email from my source confirming the agreement for my temporary settlements in Sudan. I was so happy knowing that I was going to help people with the power I held as a journalist; I would be telling stories that needed to see the light. I was going to write a series of real life stories and struggles in the local lives of people in Sudan. The plan was to bring the attention of the governments around the catastrophe their invasion had brought to the local lives and that they needed to take responsibility and provide funding to rebuild. But I wish I hadn't neglected the spark of worry I felt at the airport. I wish more than anything that I had taken the desk job for Sanders. Because I never made it to that village where my stories were waiting; where people were waiting.

They rounded up on us in the deserted land. They didn't kill anyone except the drivers. We all were taken prisoners; apparently they validated the gays among them too. All I've felt since then is fear, disgust, pain and humiliation. Had some hope for a couple of days while I was imprisoned with the others but it all went away when I was taken to satiate their pleasures. I was a firm believer in body autonomy but now all I wish for is the pain to be less severe when I'm being explored against my will. I whimper as my elbow rubs against the concrete walls and become silent again. 

"Mia?...m..my back hurts.so-s-so much, please do something.." 

I turn to look at the blonde. If only she knew how ready I was to pray with all my might so that she would be taken tonight not me then she would have made me feel the pain not asked to alleviate it. I feel guilt seeing her so devastated, I might look no different but there is nothing to see my reflection here. I try to crawl to her somehow, I can't see her face in the dark- just her silhouette sitting against the walls. I don't share the cell with the others, just her. 

The numbness leaves me as I struggle to reach her on my knees and palms. I feel it, the pain that was silent before comes roaring in my veins again. I whimper as I feel my chest throb like lava rolling off of it in waves. I don't make it to her before footsteps reach us. The dread increases tenfold and I still. I don't move an inch as they flash the torchlight at my face. Seconds feel like eternity as fear latches onto my soul like black tar. So thick that I feel like it stopped pumping for the time being. They move the light to the corner of the cell and speak something foreign. It's her tonight. 

Shouts ring within the cell as blondie bites the man with scarf, he backhands her and points to the man with exposed femur in shackles in the other cell while shouting in some other language. Won't take a degree to figure out what he would do if another weak protest came from her. Filthy demons. I'm surprised to feel anger after so long but aware of the urgency enough to charge straight at the man. He pushes me off him and kicks me in the chest. I cough as I hold onto his boot with everything I have. He tries to jerk his leg out of my hold but fails. The other one outside the cell walks in shouting as if he's annoyed by this inconvenience. He holds me by my hair and pulls back hard. I cry out hard but keep the hold tight as blondie tightens the scarf around the offender's neck. He leaves my hair and turns to deal with blondie.

I release the other's boot and hit his tibia hard before he makes his move. He mutters angrily and shoves me out of the cell as the other one herds a crying split-lipped blondie out. Maybe they'll kill us both today.

I walk ahead with the muzzle digging into my spine. I think of his smile. I can't help the despair that cloaks me when I think of the possibility of never seeing it again but that doesn't dim my eagerness to trade my life for a day in the scorching sun. I would take the scorching heat of warm rays over disgusting hands on my body any-day. My eyes blur with tears as the pain in my chest intensifies. I choke on a sob as he pushes me ahead hard. I cry out loud unable to bear the emotional pain I've bottled for over a month.

"You look like a baby when you cry, sweet. It breaks my heart."

I had just left my family telling them I didn't need them if they weren't ready to support me and my choices but I was so wrong. I was already feeling the home getting unbearably cold and I was still on the sidewalk blocks away from it. He didn't say anything. Just held me, among the chaos as my heart pumped faster and faster with the fear of how alone I just made myself.

His face flashes in my head and I cry harder. I miss home. I miss safety. I miss being treated like a human, god damn it. My pen had always been my weapon of choice. I would sit on a warm couch and write a draft in my journal first. I liked seeing the facts inked down upon clear pages, made them more real to me. Now, I feel so powerless; this helplessness is paralyzing.

Certainty is dangerous sometimes, which is why sometimes the tables turn rather surprisingly. I don't remember feeling anything but the loud shout in the compact hallway was hard to avoid. I touch myself slowly concreting the fact that I was indeed alive. Just as I register that I don't feel the muzzle at my back anymore another sound rings. I duck down and turn slightly to the left witnessing the one who was manhandling the blonde was moaning in pain clutching his shoulder and the blonde was being pinned down by the other one. She is still struggling.

Both men were so certain of the fear they casted with their cruelties that a re-attack caused one's life and other plight. I try to move, but I can't feel my own body.

"Move, ge..t , um.....move please."

She's screaming at me to get up but I can't do it.

Bang.

I whimper as I see red seeping through her chest. Her shouts are louder but all I can hear are my pathetic whimpers. I let her get killed. I am about to gather the guilt to carry when I hear the shooter laugh. I can't understand his tongue but I don't need to- I know he's proud. It's in his smile.

"You are disgusting, you despicable monster. " , I mention in a quiet voice.

He is confused not stupid. He stands up to walk towards me leaving his fellow bleeding. Pride does blind you. I hold the knife tightly that had clattered to the dark floor in the earlier struggle between the blonde and the one she shot. I had felt it under my palm when I slid down to the floor. Maybe I will see the sun after-all.

As he bends down to my level taking hold of my hair rather harshly I cry out and plunge the knife right into his aorta. I had written about crime and done some research; of course I knew the basics. I push him away and get up awkwardly. My legs refuse to move but I drag them forward anyway. The rest will be coming soon, no way the commotion didn't catch their attention.

I notice I was nearly at the end of the hallway. Maybe the plan was to shoot us after the stunt we pulled in the cell. Tears sting my eyes again as I limp ahead. If it's my guilt making me cry or relief I can't say.

The fatigue, the agony and every emotion keep me company till I reach the backdoor and then all that is left is fear and confusion. Is this really happening?

I don't wait any further and push the door forcefully. The sudden light blinds me for a moment before I run bare feet in the sand. It's burning but it's welcomed. I can hear the noises inside. I wonder how long I have to relish in the warmth of this bright ball of heat.

I have finally stepped into light after so long, dark is no more an option.